


Grumpy Guardian Angel

by NighttimeSabbatical



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Gen, loosely based off anime canon, mentions of my Sparrowfeathers OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NighttimeSabbatical/pseuds/NighttimeSabbatical
Summary: All her life Rose had been told about seraphim, the celestial beings whose goodness and wisdom made them prime candidates for the guardianship of humanity. She'd never had reason to think much about them ... at least, till she starts hearing voices. One voice in particular. After that, all that's left is to wonder what the hell she ever did to deserve such a rude smartass for a guardian angel.





	Grumpy Guardian Angel

See, Rose respected math. Really, she did—as a merchant, how couldn't she? Without math there'd be no stock, no prices, no profits. There'd be nothing. Even abstract areas of math, like algebra, geometry, calculus, combinatorics ... sure, they didn't make a lick of sense, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate them. No, no, Rose could confidently say that she absolutely, positively, and _thoroughly_ respected math.

But that didn't mean she had to like doing it.

She sighed, resting her chin on her palm. Paperwork for the Sparowfeathers was spread out haphazardly on the table before her. Normally she'd have shafted the task to someone else—anyone else—but she'd foolishly let everyone have a free day. The only one at the inn was Flav, who sulked by the window, but he couldn't even read, much less do sums. A half-finished mug of wine sat at her side, and the only thing motivating her to keep going was the promise to herself that she'd get to finish the rest the bottle when she was done.

She counted aloud, under her breath. In her math teacher's books that was just as bad as counting on her fingers, but Celine wasn't here to stop her.

"So carry the seven, and then ... three, one, two, eight, that's ... ten, eleven, thirteen, tweeenty ... one. Then carry the one—"

Right next to her ear, a man spoke. "The sum for the first row is wrong. It's supposed to be 751."

She froze. Flav was still on the other side of the room, and the voice had sounded nothing like the other, but she said, "Did you say something?"

"What?"

"... Never mind."

Must've been her imagination.

She examined the first row, and slowly counting on her fingers, came to the realization that her sum was, in fact, wrong. Even worse, the right answer was 751. Right on the mark.

Maybe her mind had unconsciously detected the error, then fabricated the man's voice to correct her. Of course—that made sense.

The sound of boots scuffling the wooden floor made her raise her head. Flav stood beside the door. "I'm heading out."

"Have fun. Don't get into trouble."

"I can only do one of those things," he said with his characteristic grin.

She snorted as he shut the door behind him.

She ducked back down, wishing she could be as free as him. Free from sitting around. Free from math. She never should've let Rosh teach her to write, or Celine teach her math.

Softly drumming the end of her pen on the table, she murmured, "Five, fourteen, twenty-three, thirty—"

"Wrong."

She leapt from her chair with so much force it toppled over, and yanking her daggers from their sheaths, hastily scanned the room.

Nothing. No one.

_Am I going crazy?_

* * *

She could've sworn she'd seen the paper on her desk a few hours ago. A pesky little slip from one of their suppliers, evidence of their contract, and one that she needed for their meeting in ten minutes. Going in blind wouldn't do with them—they were sticklers for propriety.

Likely, someone had decided to tidy up in here without consulting her first. Well, the only place left to check was the cabinet at the far side of the room. If it wasn't there, it wasn't anywhere.

Leafing through the first drawer— _damn, someone needs to organize this_ —she found nothing. The second opened with a loud screech, and, sifting through papers in similar disarray ...

"It's in the bottom drawer," said a sickeningly familiar voice.

For a moment she froze, but then continued. Maybe if she ignored it, it'd go away. After verifying the slip wasn't in the second drawer either, she move on to the third. The third of five.

"Bottom drawer."

Nope. She wouldn't even glance in its direction.

Its voice was tinged with amusement as it said, "I know you can hear me, Rose."

 _Fucking fuck, it knows my_ name _?_ Breathing shallowly, she resolutely continued what she was doing, no rushing or showing discomfort. She didn't want to give that thing the pleasure. She pointedly checked the bottom drawer last, and only that after searching through the rest of the room a second time. They'd all be pissed at her for being late, but she didn't care.

She slowly pulled the final drawer open, flinching at its squeaking.

There the paper was, right smack dab at the top of the pile. She grabbed it, slammed the drawer shut, then booked it out of the room.

* * *

Going on this job alone had been a mistake, Rose realized.

The place was an absolute maze. Usually she'd have a rough memory of the target's residence from seeing blueprints, but they hadn't been able to get their hands on any. After five years of infiltrating countless nobles' mansions she'd developed a sense for typical layouts, but here it seemed there was no rhyme or reason for the placement of anything. Richard Flanagan, her target, was reputed to be a very paranoid man, and probably for good reason considering his penchant for keeping sex slaves.

Guards were everywhere, even in places that didn't typically need much guarding, like the kitchens and servants' quarters. It was pure luck she hadn't been seen by now.

After passing through a series of long hallways lined with richly furnished bedchambers on both sides without meeting a single soul, guard or otherwise, she started to worry. Clearly there were no guards because none were needed, but she'd already done a thorough check of all the guarded areas. Had their scout been wrong about Flanagan being here tonight? It seemed unlikely, but ...

Rose reached an intersection of corridors. She could go right, left, or continue straight ahead. Moonlight streamed through a window at the end of the right corridor, softly illuminating it, and that decided her. Being so long in near pitch blackness was making her antsy. She took a step.

"Not that way."

She swivelled around, only to face an empty hallway. There weren't any hiding places—no furniture or open doors—but she still said, shakily, "Show yourself." She gripped the hilts of her daggers so hard it hurt.

"It's not my fault you can't see me." The voice sounded like it was coming from _right there_ , but all Rose saw was empty space. She squinted—nothing.

"Why exactly shouldn't I go that way?" Best to play it cool, or at least as cool as she could play it when she was pretty sure she was being haunted.

"It just loops back to where you've already been. If you go straight ahead then through the third door on the right, up the staircase then to the right again, the first room you pass is the old man's—or at least, the guest room he's using. Both he and his guard are asleep, so dealing with him should be a piece of cake."

"And I should trust you because ..."

"Take my advice or leave it. No skin off my nose."

 _It has a nose?_ She hesitated. The voice _had_ helped her with math, and had at least tried to help her find that paper. She couldn't think of any reason why it would try to steer her wrong here. But maybe it was in cahoots with Flanagan and had just helped her those other times to get her guard down.

Either way, it made no further effort to persuade her. Maybe it could be trusted now, too. It wasn't like she had any other viable option.

She darted down the right corridor.

* * *

As a rule Rose never went with the others to scout a place before a job, but today would be an exception. Tonight they'd be after three targets at one of the abbeys in Pendrago, so she'd prefer to rely on her own eyes and ears to help her formulate a plan of attack.

After dressing in plain clothes so as not to arouse suspicion, she'd just touched the doorknob when she heard, "Sure you wanna go out like that?"

She sighed. "What is it this time?"

"You have spinach in your teeth."

She prodded her front teeth with her tongue and sure enough, there was something stuck there. But she couldn't dislodge it with her tongue, and made no headway scratching at it with her fingernail, either. Dammit, where did she put the floss?

"What even are you, anyway?" she asked as she fished through the drawer.

"I thought that much was obvious."

Fine. If it wouldn't give her a straight answer, she wouldn't pry for one. Floss in hand, she headed for the mirror.

The voice said, "I'm a seraph."

She stopped, floss midair on its way to her mouth. "No way."

"Why not?" It—he?—sounded amused.

"Well, y'know ..." She struggled for a moment. "Seraphim are supposed to be serene, and noble, and stuff! Not like ..." _Not like_ you _._

He chuckled. "Sorry to tell you this, Rose, but I don't think I've ever met a seraph like that. All that _serene, wise, ethereal_ stuff is just a bunch of human bullshit."

He knew her name, but she didn't know his. "What's your name?"

A slight pause, then: "Dezel."

"Huh. That's a weird name."

He _tsk_ ed. She flossed her teeth, thinking all the while.

When she finished she said, as nonchalantly as she could, "What, so you've just been following me around? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Not really."

She wanted to tell him to get lost, but suspected that wouldn't work. Clearly he had his own reasons for essentially stalking her. Plus, she had to admit, he'd been kinda sorta helpful ... even if a damn smartass.

* * *

Early on in her career as boss of the Sparrowfeathers Rose, drunk on power, had declared that everyone—and that meant _everyone_ —would alternate cooking duty. Everyone else was always telling her that as boss she didn't have to, but she insisted. It was fair, after all.

Apron on, hair tie on, game face on. Today, she'd go with something simple: fried chicken and rice. The oil hissed when she poured it on the warmed pan, but suddenly cut off when she tossed the chicken on. She straightened it out with the spatula, and it covered the pan nicely. Rosh, Talfryn, Felice, and Kira loudly played cards in the other room, shouting and laughing. The Sparrowfeathers took cards very seriously.

"The chicken's still frozen in the centre," Dezel said. She jumped, and the spatula nearly flew out of her hands. Dammit, couldn't he at least give her some sort of warning before doing the whole disembodied voice thing?

"Yeah," she whispered. "It'll defrost while I'm cooking it. That way they'll be nice and crispy on the outside and tender on the inside." It was ingenius, really. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before.

"Actually, at best you'll end up with a charred outside and an undercooked inside."

"Shut up. I know what I'm doing."

"I highly doubt that," he retorted. "And look, you've overcrowded the pan. How do you plan on making your chicken crispy when there's so much moisture trapped between them? They're gonna get soggy."

She scowled, shifting the chicken around. "Go bug someone else."

"Would if I could," he said dryly. "You're the only one here who can hear me."

 _Lucky me._ At this point she decided it would be best to just ignore him. After a few minutes of simmering in blessed, blessed silence, she thought maybe he'd finally found something better to do than heckle her.

At least, until there was a teeny whisper in her ear. "Rose—"

She whipped around. "Shut up! I know what I'm doing!"

Silence, save for the sizzling chicken.

"Sorry, boss," Talfryn said loudly. Shit, they'd heard her!

"I wasn't talking to you."

As soon as it was out of her mouth she realized it was exactly the wrong thing to say, because Felice then asked, "Then who were you talking to, boss?"

"N-never mind. Forget it."

Dezel laughed, and gods, she wished she could see him so she could deck him in his stupid nose.

"Y'know, I think I remember hearing you talking to yourself a few weeks ago," Talfryn said. "You got an imaginary friend, boss?"

They weren't _friends_. She hardly even tolerated his presence, let alone liked him. And she could only wish he were imaginary.

"Sure, Talfryn," she said, turning back to the stove. "Sure."

* * *

Over the next few months, Dezel annoyed her more and more. Always the smartass, from telling her a door had to be pushed when she'd try to pull it open _(I already got that, thanks)_ , to telling her, deadpan, that her fly was open _(Why were you even looking there, perv?)_ And it seemed like whenever she actually wanted his assistance, he'd hem and haw and only eventually help when she nearly got to the point of begging. That's how much he liked to watch her struggle and squirm.

Some seraph he was. Now whenever she met priests and other pious people who sung the praises of the heavenly, wise, wondrous seraphim, she wanted to puke. They didn't know shit.

* * *

She sat at her desk in the warehouse, a new product before her. The Sparrowfeathers dealt exclusively in various foodstuffs, but when she'd seen this set of beautiful lacquered bowls, she simply couldn't resist. It was good to do something new every once in a while, right?

But she couldn't, for the life of her, decide exactly which colour they were. They were either yellow or orange—yellowy orange. Orangey yellow?

She needed another opinion. "Hey Dezel, you there?"

After a long pause: "What?"

"What colour would you say these bowls are?" She rotated one in her hands, admiring its smooth surface and its gleam.

After an even longer pause: "Dunno."

"You too, huh? It's too yellowy to be orange, and too orangey to be yellow, so ..."

"A colour between yellow and orange would be amber."

"Oh, right! Amber!" Duh. How could she have forgotten about amber? She could see herself now, shouting to the masses in Lastonbel's market: _Gorgeous amber bowls, for a limited time only! Get 'em while they're here, because they're going quick! Only from the illustrious Sparrowfeathers!_ "You could've just said that in the first place."

After the longest pause yet: "I'm blind."

"But—" _What?_ "How do you even—y'know ... get around? Without—bumping into stuff?"

"I can read the wind."

Laughter burst out of her before she could stop it, but she quickly composed herself.

"What?" he asked, clearly offended.

"It's just, um, what does that even mean?"

"I'm a wind seraph. I can manipulate the wind, and perceive things through it."

"Oh." Well, that made sense. Sort of. "I didn't know seraphim had elements."

"There's a lot you humans don't know about seraphim."

"And you know eeeverything there is to know about us humans, right?"

"Basically."

She frowned, setting the bowl on the table. "That's creepy."

* * *

Once again Rose found herself alone at an inn, doing paperwork for the Sparrowfeathers. Well, less doing it and more thinking about all the things she'd rather being doing than it. Like watching grass grow, or counting all the leaves on a tree, or gauging her left eye out with a rusty nail ...

"Dezeeeelll," she groaned, letting her head drop against the table. Her next words were muffled. "Help meeeee."

"No."

"But you helped me last time."

"I only corrected your mistakes. You did all the work yourself."

She sighed dramatically. "I can't believe I used to think I was done with this crap."

"That's only because you never listened to Celine when she tried to tell you otherwise."

She raised her head. "You were around when I was a kid?"

"Yeah."

She grimaced. "... Just how long have you been stalking me?"

"I'm not stalking you," he said testily. "I was with the Windriders before you were even born."

"Whatever." She had to admit, she was a little disappointed. If he'd known her before Brad had picked her up off that battlefield, he'd know something about her past. Not that she'd ever been torn up about not knowing, but still, to know would be ... "Don't you have any seraph friends?"

He didn't reply for a while. She almost thought he'd left before he said, haltingly, "I had a friend."

Had ... ? _Oh._ "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." His voice was harsh. "It's not your fault."

"Still."

Suddenly everything around her seemed more still, in a way. She didn't know how she knew, but she could tell he'd left.

Rose had never thought about it before, but it occurred to her that he must be lonely if she was the only one he ever really talked to. They travelled around a lot, so unless he had a decent amount of seraph friends in lots of different places ... Seemed unlikely for someone as reserved as him.

Maybe she'd be a little kinder to him in the future.

* * *

Marian Welch's manor lay snug between a cleft in Biruclef Ridge, but in truth it looked more a fortress than a manor, with its high crenellated walls and tall spires. Rose crouched on a smooth stone roof slick with recent rain, peering around. Her, Felice, and Eguille had split up to search for a possible opening, but it didn't look good. Two guards were posted at each entrance, and even at this hour pairs of guards patrolled the perimeter, lending little chance to entering without being soon noticed.

The Scattered Bones weren't often commissioned to assassinate women, but Welch was among the worst of the worst of them. Word had it she was lying low after her homeless shelter was discovered to be less a shelter and more a slaughterhouse. For years homeless people had gone missing, but until Sergei Strelka took the helm of the Platinum Knights, no one with authority cared.

But the law couldn't touch Welch because of her noble blood and enormous wealth. So, that was where the Scattered Bones came in.

Rose turned her head, and there she saw it: an open window on the third floor. That was in the servants' quarters, wasn't it?

She thought she had enough time to to check if it was actually feasible. Let's see, if she climbed to that other roof, ran across, then leaped across the gap onto the ledge ...

As she approached the gap, she realized it sure looked bigger from close up. It would tricky, but she was pretty sure she could make it. She took a running start.

But just as she leapt off the roof her foot slipped, and her breath left her as she toppled over the edge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the agonizing _crunch_ when she crashed to the ground. Wind rushed in her ears, whipping at her hair and clothes until it almost hurt, and only got fiercer as she fell. There was no way she could open her eyes now without them flying out of their sockets or worse.

But she never hit the ground.

A memory of Dezel struck her mind: _I can read the wind._ Could he use the wind, too?

She landed gently, on hands and knees, on the cold, wet roof, and Dezel's voice exploded in her ears.

"You idiot, what were you thinking?"

Rose panted, her voice hoarse. "I-I just took a wrong step. It's not like I'd meant to fall." She shifted to a sitting position and sullenly rubbed her smarting ankle. She must've twisted it before the fall.

"You had to have known you couldn't make that jump. If it weren't for me, you could've died!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said sarcastically. "If saving me was so much trouble, maybe you should've let me fall."

"It wasn't—" He suddenly cut off. He continued, much more gently, "I'm just saying be careful. That's all."

 _It wasn't—_ what? A sudden smile tugged at Rose's lips. "You really do care about me, don't you?"

"Shut up."

"Aww, Dezel," she said, laughing. "I think I get it. You're just my grumpy guardian angel, aren't you?"

"I'm not grumpy," he said grumpily. "Now sit still."

"Why?" She did as he said, and after a few moments the pain in her ankle lessened until it was suddenly gone altogether. She tentatively rotated it, and, nothing. No pain at all. "Did you ...?"

"Who else could have?"

"No, I mean—thanks!" She stood. "I didn't know you could do that."

"I honestly wasn't quite sure I could either," he said. "It must be because of your high resonance that I can interact with you like that."

"Resonance?"

"How well humans can innately sense seraphim."

Hmm. "Where are you?"

"To your left."

She squinted. The moonlight wasn't bright, but she thought she could maybe see the barest silhouette ... Her hand darted out, and when it connected with something hard and warm and fabric-covered she yanked it away. "Ugh, what was that?!"

"My chest," he said petulantly. "Next time you wanna try something like that warn me, would you?"

"You must be pretty tall."

"Taller than you. But I guess that's not saying much." Before she could make her biting retort, he added, "Felice and Eguille are coming."

Damn, she'd completely forgot about meeting up with them. They quickly caught sight of her and came over, the pair of them fortunately looking unruffled.

Eguille examined her sharply. "Why didn't you come, boss?"

"Ran into a little trouble, but it's okay now." She pointed out the open window and the ledge.

"Hmm, that's quite the jump," Felice said, slightly tilting her head. "Especially with how slick the roof is, it might be easier if we tried to get at it from the other side."

"My thoughts exactly," Rose said, and Dezel snorted. With lightning quickness she punched him in the stomach, and her satisfaction at his pained grunt exceeded her embarrassment at Eguille and Felice's odd looks. "Well let's get going, then. We don't have all night."

Punching Dezel didn't come without consequences. She couldn't prove it was him, of course, but for the rest of the night her hood kept getting blown off her head. Even when her back faced the wind. Even when they were inside. Amused by his pettiness and annoyed by his persistence, she couldn't suppress a smile at Eguille and Felice's perturbation at the display.

Still, she plotted her revenge. It would be hard to get back at someone she couldn't even see, to be sure, but Rose was nothing if not creative. Eventually he'd see that she wasn't someone to be trifled with.

They were going to get along just fine, she and him.


End file.
